God's Dark Hobby
If you knew of all my unreachable dreams,
would you build me bridges to reach them?
Or would you unloosen the ties on either end?
Until I kiss the cold granite lips of reality and death.
You act like a foe and sometimes a friend.
Your flavor of love has a most peculiar blend.
At times mercurial hot or blue glacial cold.
I pray to reach that tepid glade of your beautiful soul.
My Faith has been jagged but I feel we walk hand in hand.
Over paths of black satin and spider webbed glass.
I know most of my dreams have been only mirages.
But a facet of love is kneading hazy dream into collage.
Seems our collective folly is God's darkest hobby.
Our dual visions and dreams rarely seem to mesh.
Paired petals navigating over fanged cataracts
'til they tumble into a cool black pool... called death.
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